UberFunky Happy Pills
by no2benry
Summary: A response to a challenge. Daniel takes the pills from Tyler, making his interactions with Betty very...interesting. AU, set at the end of Season 1. DB, duh.
1. Chapter 1: Fabulously Fragrant

**Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing. All belongs to that golden god, Silvio Horta and ABC.**

**A/N: Aloha, all. This is a response to a challenge from impishdragon over at the Bachelor and the Butterfly community on livejournal. I know, I know, I already have a million WIPs started over here, but I couldn't pass this one up. No grand plan as of yet, just a general idea—I'm mostly following the muse blindly.**

**The challenge terms were pretty simple. Daniel somehow becomes addicted to Betty via the five senses. So here goes…**

**Ch. 1: Smell**

**I smell the smelly smell of something that is smelly…**

Daniel glanced at the bottle of uber-funky prescription(ish) pills dubiously. They kind of looked like Altoids, actually, which would help keep his battle with his penis on the down-low. So to speak.

Tyler (aka Dr. Feelgood) had assured him these things would work, and work they did—the all-around batshit insanity was just a side-effect, he guessed. Betty, for her part, had been shooting him worried frowns all day, especially on the elevator, since his happy pills had led him to a newfound cluelessness regarding personal space. Alexis had quizzically pointed out to him he had Betty squished into a corner of the otherwise empty elevator. Daniel had responded by pointing out that Alexis rather large, man-ish hands that appeared to be "multicolored and dancing" in front of his face. Alexis had exited the elevator in a confused huff.

That was when Daniel had turned his attention to Betty and started to smell her.

In dire need of oxygen, Betty had initially thought that Daniel was just playing around and being, well,_ Daniel_ by trapping her in the corner. But it was when he never once looked back to gauge her reaction that she became scared. Also, there was the issue of his butt rubbing up against her. It was as nice as everyone said it was, but that wasn't the point.

When he finally had turned to look at her, he'd braced both his hands over her head on the wall of the elevator, lowered his nose to her hair, and took a deep whiff. He only paused to loosen his tie and then resumed his unauthorized olfactory exploration.

"Ha, ha. Very funny, joke's on me, I'm the apparently very fragrant idiot here. You can stop now Daniel."

He didn't. If anything, he ventured further down, into the softness behind her earlobe, the perfect slope where her neck met her shoulder, and finally….WHOA. _Onward to cleavage, ho!_

Enough was enough. Betty had to stop this before she wound up pregnant with the next Meade heir. She gave him a shove. It was about as effective as a diaphragm in Marc's man-purse. Daniel was built rock-solid, and she hadn't been trying to hurt him the first go-round anyway.

That is, until the elevator doors opened and a bevy of models trouped in. Betty realized that they had become office gossip fodder as soon as they caught sight of Daniel and Betty apparently macking in the corner. It would have been well-nigh impossible, not to mention useless, to even try to play it off now. So Betty settled for hoping that he would turn his nose to the models, who were doubtless wearing perfume more to Daniel's taste—perfume more expensive than her house, in other words.

"Look, lookie there, Daniel! Long legs. Big boooobs! I'll bet some of them are even real! That red-head's checking out your butt. They're all stripping down naked! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SMELLING ME!!!"

But, no.

Daniel spoke, the first words she'd heard out of him all day. "Betty…what are you wearing?"

"What?" At least he hadn't asked her the color of her panties.

"Your perfume. Your…scent. What's it called? I swear to God, I'm going to bottle it and sell it and put it on one of those little fold-out scratch-and-sniff things that's on every other page of Mode. Chicks dig that. I _dig_ that." He finally rested his sweaty forehead against hers.

"I'm not wearing any perfume…Daniel, what's wrong with you?" She put her hand on his cheek and stroked gently. He responded by capturing her thumb gently between his teeth and sucking gently. She could see the models behind her practically screaming with envy.

Betty dislodged her hand, away from the pleasurable, endearingly needy and infant-like sensation. "Nuh-uh, none of that, Mr. Crazy. Daniel, can you do something for me?"

Heavy lids closed over feverish blue eyes for a moment, and he nodded.

"I need you to let me move. Come on, sweetie," she said gently, urgently. Daniel, to her surprise, staggered backwards. When he saw her small, scrunched-up form in the light let in by his vacating body, he seemed to mostly snap out of his daze.

Remorse filled his face. He wrapped his arms around himself. "Oh, God, Betty, I…I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening to me…"

Betty pushed aside the cooing models and rubbed his shoulder. "Let's just get you something to eat, okay?"

Leaving the elevator, her arm entwined through Daniel's, Betty discreetly smelled herself.

**Each chappie will be a different sense…please tell me what you think of this one!**


	2. Chapter 2: You See Me, ICU

**A/N: To my reviewers—you know you guys are the coolest xD**

**Ch. 2: Sight**

**You see me, I.C.U.**

**Bevin's POV**

Bevin, Daniel's latest potential conquest, took issue with the fact that he had essentially been staring at his assistant nonstop all evening.

Bevin hadn't come to the conclusion that her date had a mondo-boner for his best friend on her own, of course. The two brain cells she had refused to collide to form that original thought all by herself. But all that changed when Amanda slinked up behind her at the benefit dinner.

Daniel, up until that point, had been sweating profusely. Bevin had chalked it up to her own hotness, not even bothering to notice through the haze of her vanity that Daniel's sweating had increased tenfold as soon as he saw Betty glide down her front porch steps. He had also promptly swallowed some of those Altoids he seemed so attached to, although she didn't think much of that. A man that achingly gorgeous was allowed a few…eccentricities.

Anywho, she also didn't make much of the fact that Daniel had insisted that Betty ride with them to the dinner. He probably wanted her to shine his shoes or something. That's what assistants did, right?

The dance, though. The dance was the kicker. Daniel, who'd been smiling gently and indulgently as Betty charmed the hell out of six potential clients, stood and offered his hand, completely out of the blue. Betty, startled, took it, and allowed him to pull her onto the dance floor.

Bevin, stewing, was tempted to charge over and pull the two apart, but she'd been warned that if there was one thing Daniel Meade hated in a woman, it was clinginess. So she was left temporarily by herself, but not for long. Bevin caught a whiff of Ralph Lauren and turned to see a small, waifish, and beautiful blonde looking over her shoulder at the dancing couple. It was Amanda, Mode's head receptionist but one of many resident bitches. Bevin had disliked her instantly. She was about to dislike her even more.

Amanda glanced at Bevin casually out of the corner of her eye and, as if seeing something unworthy and vaguely laughable, quickly glanced away, a small smirk quirking the shiny pink lips.

"Bevin, is it?" she finally asked.

Bevin gave a curt, affirmative nod.

"Let me give you some advice, sweetie, vicious bitch to slightly less pretty vicious bitch," Amanda said conversationally, sweetly, in a way that immediately raised Bevin's hackles. "See those two over there?" She inclined her head towards Daniel and Betty. Daniel was blowing raspberries on Betty's neck and Betty was playfully slapping him away. Daniel, however, refused to allow much daylight in between them.

Amanda continued. "Let's say it was a cold day in hell and you and Daniel got really serious. You travel halfway across the world to a remote, exotic, romantic locale, and you think you've won because you've managed to get him that far away from Betty Suarez. You'll get a really, really good lay out of it, too, because if there's one thing Daniel Meade excels at, it's making a girl see stars. But, oh, wait…who's he calling on his cell approximately five minutes after he's done boinking you? Why, it's Betty! And you'd better get used to the idea. Because your opinion, your looks, and your feelings will all mean jack-shit beside that girl."

Amanda put a hand on Bevin's shoulder. "Cut your losses," she said, not unkindly. Then she was gone.

Bevin turned around just in time to see Daniel collapse.

**Betty's POV**

The song was "You Don't Know Me" by Ray Charles.

"_You know, I'm just a friend. That's all I've ever been…but you don't know me…"_

Betty had never felt such a myriad of emotions before. She felt sorry for Bevin. Sure, the girl had been catty to her all evening, but she had her reasons, namely Daniel's borderline obsessive attentiveness to herself.

This led to Betty's next emotion: confusion. Sweet, sweaty-palmed, chills up the spine confusion but confusion nonetheless. She was used to Daniel being attentive to her at these functions. He hated them as much as she did unless he got to hand out massive checks (probably yet another penis metaphor) and they usually ended up slipping out and walking the gardens, if there were any, arm-in-arm, just the two of them. If they couldn't ditch his entourage so easily, he would normally just stick by her side, introduce her to various executives, and all-around "show her off," as Claire Meade had calmly observed once; Betty begged to differ, but Claire had still insisted that Daniel nearly burst with pride every time he looked in Betty's direction.

In any case, Daniel dancing in any capacity was strange, but when all but carried Betty out on the dance floor, she just thought he was a little buzzed on champagne. That had to be the reason for his fingers lightly tracing her spine, his mouthing of her jaw, his teasing yet erotic blowing of raspberries on her neck every chance he could, and those eyes—every time she'd dared to look up, she'd met them. Big and full of smoldering blue embers, a girl could get lost there. Betty had always had a theory that it wasn't his wealth or his name or his body (although it was damn fine) that got Daniel Meade more ass than a rental car: it was those orgasm-inducing blue eyes.

Betty saw fear in them tonight, fear and something else—but she refused to go there. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating profusely, and although she appreciated the salty Daniel-scent and the warmth, he had not exerted himself nearly so much to naturally earn such a sweat. When she'd twined her arms around his neck (more of a maternal instinct than anything, she kept telling herself), she could feel his heart beating insanely, haphazardly within his chest.

Betty, startled, put a hand over his heart and he immediately moved once more to his shoulder. Betty sighed. She spoke into his shoulder, his cheek resting on the top of her head, "What's wrong?"

When Daniel finally said something, he sounded like a lost little boy. He gently captured her earlobe between his teeth, causing them both to go still. "I'm scared." He kissed her temple.

Betty drew back and looked him full in the eye. "We need to talk, about the smelling, the staring, and the-- holy crap, stop that!—_groping_, but you should sit somewhere first. You're heart's going crazy in there."

Daniel kissed her full on the mouth. "Tell me about it," he said.

"_You'll never, never know the one who loves you so…but you don't know me…"_

Betty couldn't stifle her scream as he sank to the floor, unconscious.

**Well, that's it for "sight". Hope you enjoyed. If so or if not, please tell me! Next sense is hearing…**


	3. Chapter 3: Let's Spoon

**A/N: I lurves my reviewers fiercely! I combined hearing and taste together because, in a strange way, it made more sense. Get it? More sense? Ha! Oh, never mind. :-D **

**Hearing**

"He needs moist towelettes." Betty was adamant.

The nurse gave her an eat-shit-and-die look. "How do you know? He's practically catatonic."

Betty was about to go all Queens Princess on her when she felt a hand on her arm, long, slender, yet oddly powerful. Alexis.

Looking into those frosty blue eyes, so much like Daniel's, and knowing that her own were sporting bags that looked like matched luggage, Betty sighed wearily. "Sorry. You can take the girl out of Queens, but…"

The glamazon smiled gently, a sight that was becoming more and more familiar. "I thought it was kind of sexy, you all bowed up like that, ready to scrap. If I were still a man…"

Daniel had to agree with his sister that Betty did indeed look delicious on the rare occasions when the "Latina spitfire" within took hold, her hands balled into little fists that he just wanted to cradle and kiss. The first time she'd turned such fury on him was her first day as his assistant, he recalled.

Yes, he still had tubes up his nose and, probably, his butt; however, he was in the uncomfortable position of being asleep and yet…not. For a while, everything had been blissful black oblivion.

And then he heard her voice. _Betty. _She was crooning some nonsensical little lullaby to him; odd, really, that he was thirty-two years old when he heard his first lullaby. The nanny had certainly never sung to him.

Ever since then, he'd been lying here unable to lift a finger, bat an eyelid, or wake the hell up. But he could hear, and what he hung on to was his girl's voice. And the need for some moist towelettes.

All he knew now was that Betty's voice was getting farther away, and if she left him, he was sure, he would lose his tenuous grip on semi-consciousness. If she had to go to the potty, she could squat down and use his bedpan, dammit. As long as she didn't leave the room.

Daniel's distress made his heart rate increase, which in turn made the monitor beep like a nest full of baby birds. Betty approached him worriedly. He relaxed and his stats returned to their regular pace.

"Shhh…," Betty kissed his forehead. "I'm right here…" She rested her head on his shoulder, and Daniel thought he would die right then and there. "This is all my fault,"she said, her voice muffled.

_What the hell? No, it isn't._

"I should've known Tyler was a quack, but I saw you drowning and I was desperate to help. God, why do I always have to try to fix everyone?"

_Because I need fixing…and you're the only one who can…_

"I just…love you, okay? I love your strength and your kindness and your humanity. I love how you know all my looks and how gentle you really are and how _not_ like your father you've turned out to be, God rest his soul. And maybe I am only an assistant, but you're my dearest friend. And I really, really wish you'd wake up and tell me what a sappy girl I am."

And he did. Betty loved him, after all.

Betty was lying there, head on his chest, breathing in the scent of him—he always smelled like he was fresh out of the shower, all natural salty Daniel-musk, no matter what cologne he was wearing—and her tears were making a big wet mark on his white shirt. She was wondering idly what would annoy him enough to wake him up—maybe if she said "BOOOOOBS" really loud, over and over again—when she heard a husky, sandpaper voice in her ear:

"Hey, Betty? What's pink and slimy and lives in a hole?"

Betty's eyes snapped open and she slowly raised her head, knowing full well that she'd both regret and savor what was about to happen.

She made her voice sound as world-weary and exasperated as she could as she met those heavy-lidded basilisk eyes. "What?"

Daniel reached up and tugged her downward, where he proceeded to stick his tongue in her ear. "That."

"God, you're so weird!" Betty squealed, then giggled, then started in on a crying jag that made Daniel's own eyes grow moist. He scooted over on the bed, and she climbed in beside him. He pulled the covers over them both and drew her into his arms, then relaxed back, his limited strength almost spent. "Come here, you. I need to tell you some things. First of all, none of this is your fault. Second, I need to you to fix me because I suck at fixing myself. And, most importantly, you sounded really, really hot bitching out the nurse over moist towelettes."

Betty turned her head into his shoulder to hide her blush, and he chuckled knowingly. He heard a soft "Altoids, my butt," coming from her general direction then, soon, a soft snore. He kissed the top of her head, the tip of her nose, her cheeks and then he finally drifted off as well, his eyes lingering on her lips.

Alexis came in, coffee in hand, to find them entwined together. She whipped out her cell. "Mom, get down here…he's awake. Kind of." She hung up and cast another glance at the content pair. She had a feeling that, in this moment, the world was as it should be, although these two still had a ways to go. Betty had Henry, after all, and Daniel still had maybe five women left to bang before he'd officially gotten into the drawers of every chick on the East coast.

"Hold on to your butts," she muttered.

DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBBDB

**Taste**

"All right, pill head, sit up." Betty stood at his bedside, hands on her hips. They were back in Daniel's Soho loft, although Betty was flashing back to trying to feed an infant Justin peas. He was being that tiresome.

On the tray before him was oatmeal. He really wished Betty was on the tray before him, not even disturbed by the fact that his feelings for her were continuing to grow long after the pills had worn off.

They were having a standoff worthy of _Dirty Harry_, Betty resorting to sitting cross-legged beside him on the bed, armed with a spoon and a glare. It was making him randy.

"Did I tell you they pumped my stomach?" he asked, after a full five minutes of Betty's coddling, then coaxing, then urging, then yelling at him to eat _one bite_ of the frickin' oatmeal or else she was going to be late to the movie with Henry.

"No, really? You haven't mentioned that in the last two minutes, so I've kind of forgotten the details…didn't your mother ever serve you this?"

"Yes."

"Did you eat it for her?"

"Of course not."

"Didn't she, oh, say, _force it down your throat_?"

"I've never had to do anything I didn't want," he said casually, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm rich," he added, by way of explanation.

"You're spoiled rotten," Betty ground out. "And you've been missing out on the essential nutrients a nice, steaming bowl of oatmeal provides—nutrients that you desperately need after, what was that they did? Give you a blood transfusion, perform open-heart surgery…?"

"They pumped my stomach," Daniel supplied helpfully.

"Oh, that's it, thanks." Betty leaned in with the spoon. If he was going to act like a child, she'd treat him like one. She dug into the oatmeal, and took a big bite. "Mmmm, soooo gooood…see, Betty likes it!"

Betty was also trying not to melt right into the mattress when she saw Daniel's fixated gaze on her mouth, her pink tongue licking the spoon clean.

Daniel slowly reached through the charged air between them to pluck the utensil from her fingers. He got a spoonful, but he didn't just eat the oatmeal…oh, no, he devoured it, his tongue cleaning the back of the spoon in long languorous slides, his eyes never leaving hers once. Funny, that the porniest thing she'd ever seen was Daniel Meade eating oatmeal, although Christina had once jokingly (or not) said that she could get orgasmic watching him do just that.

When he was done, he dropped the spoon into the bowl; Betty had never felt more envious of a kitchen utensil in her life. That spoon was one lucky bitch. He reclined against the pillows, his hands behind his head.

"Happy now?"

Happy? Check. Scared, confused, and about to internally combust? Double check. Betty finally, blessedly, found her voice. "Ecstatic," she said dryly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

When she rose slightly to look into his face, he captured hers in his hands. "No, thank _you_," he whispered, before pulling her down on top of him and kissing her, giving her tongue and the inside of her mouth the same treatment he'd given that spoon.

This felt so, so right, which was probably why her hands found their way up under his wife-beater without the slightest hesitation, gently rubbing his sides; his skin was so hot, always. Daniel was doing his own exploring, trying to find a happy medium between copping a feel and trying not to scare her off.

All the emotions evoked by that kiss on the dance floor, before he'd collapsed, that she'd tried so hard to repress were back. But then, they'd never really gone anywhere. She caught a glimpse at the time on his digital nightstand clock.

"Oh, my God…Henry…the movie…"

Daniel refused to let her get up, keeping his arms encircled around her. "Henry has competition. You might want to warn him." He rested his forehead against hers and rubbed her arms gently. "I can't deal with this you-leaving-my-bed issue that we've been having lately," he grinned, cheeky yet serious.

Betty reluctantly broke contact. "You started it," she said slipping on her coat.

Daniel smirked. "Just now, you almost finished it."

Betty rolled her eyes. "Ew. Get some rest," she said, backing towards the door.

"You tasted like oatmeal, you know," Daniel called out, wild grin irrepressible.

Betty smiled weakly. "Lucky you."

She slipped out, and went to meet Henry.

**Please tell me your thoughts. Normally I wouldn't have the blossoming DxB dynamic moving along this fast, but since I only have one more sense left—touch, woohoo!—everyone pretty much knows where this is going.**


	4. Chapter 4: I Touch Myself

**A/N: Hi, everyone! I finally got around to updating this fic...not much left to go, since I'm on the last sense, which is touch. I'm basically going to break this section into two big parts. Part 1 of "Touch" is obviously this one. I'll post Part Two very soon. Speaking of touched, my reviewers blow me away as usual with your kind, kind words. I'm terribly sorry to leave you all hanging on so many fics, but I'll try to make it up to you ;) **

**I Touch Myself: Part 1**

**_"They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no..."_ --Amy Winehouse**

Things got really, _really _awkward after the Great Oatmeal Makeout Incident of '08.

Daniel didn't know about Betty, but it was killing him. And also Henry, who was too timid to confront Daniel face-to-face about why exactly his girlfriend had shown up to the movies that night looking like she'd been worked over by at least nine horny sailors, and settled instead for shooting him the Impotent Accountant Glare O' Death from afar.

Daniel, feeling the need to put his fist straight through his glass desk after Betty had yet again refused to make eye-contact with him, fervently wished Henry would come in here and try to make an issue of it.

His mood had been decidedly foul, and it was telling that the high point of his day was when he'd accidentally (or at least that's what he told Betty) dropped the f-bomb in front of a class of gawky, swooning junior high girls there on a field trip.

They'd shivered delightedly over how _bad_ he was and then they all whipped out their camera phones, waving in a corny fashion like they were taking pictures with Tigger at Disneyland or something.

His ears had perked up when he'd heard one of them ask Betty breathily how she could work next to him all day and not just, like, _die_, but he couldn't hear her flustered mumble of a cop-out response.

He rested his chin on his clasped hands and resumed staring at Betty through the fishbowl. She knew he was watching her—her spine was ramrod straight, her eyes were trained hard and fast on the monitor's screen, and she answered the phone with a brusqueness that would only really be appropriate for Sergeant McSadist barking out orders to her troops. Daniel had, in fact, received several questions about this, the general gist of which being "When and how did Betty get so damn weird?"

_Oh, I dunno, guys, after we sucked face on my bed while I was half-clothed and Betty was trying to force-feed me plant products and we were both about to totally do it. _

Normally, he'd have noted her tense posture, pressed the intercom button, and asked her to remove the corncob from her ass. And she'd have cheekily responded that he was damn lucky to have that corncob because otherwise jack would get done.

But not today. No, today Betty would probably respond by either bursting into tears or throwing up, which would cause him to either burst into tears or throw up.

He noticed that she was glancing up at him now in little nervous intervals, which meant she had to walk into his office herself to tell him something instead of foisting it off on an intern.

She finally stood up and Daniel rapidly looked away, knowing that if she felt his intense gaze on her she'd never make it over. It was a bit like coaxing a small woodland creature to eat from his hand.

She came over and stood stiffly in front of his desk. "Your therapist called. She had a family emergency and wants to know if you could possibly move your appointment up to 2 o'clock."

Daniel leaned back and crossed his arms. "How about we reschedule it for when the big hand reaches 'never' and the little hand reaches 'again.' The whole shrink idea was yours, not mine."

Daniel was actually relieved to see the look of irritation cross Betty's face. Folding her arms in a gesture that mimicked his own, she said, "Daniel, we've been through this. You have a woman for every night if the week, _at least_. It's a miracle you haven't gotten the crabs yet." Daniel moved to speak and she held up a halting finger. "Do not EVER tell me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You need help, if last night was any indica--," she stopped abruptly, a mortified look on her face.

She focused on a dust bunny rolling lightly around on the carpet, a beautiful blush rising from her neck to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "Well, she's waiting on the line. What should I tell her?" Her voice was as delicate as a silken thread.

Daniel ignored her question and stood, stepping out from around his desk purposefully. It was all Betty could do to keep from bolting. _Ladies and gentleman, in case of approach from sexy Editor-in-Chief whose apartment you practically did the Walk of Shame from last night, please note the neon "Exit" signs over each set of doors…_

He took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. "Is that what you think last night was about? That you were just something in a skirt to feed my so-called sex addiction?" He snorted in disgust. "God, you really don't know me after all. Betty," he whispered her name with a desperation that made her start, "I would take an Uzi to any bastard who even vaguely entertained the notion of hurting you, including myself…especially myself."

Touched despite herself, Betty felt the tears welling up. Her head throbbed painfully. Swiping hastily at her eyes, she fervently wished she could go back to the days when all boys had cooties and that was simply that.

"I know all this, Daniel. I do." She glanced over her shoulder to see Amanda perched on her desk; she was pretending to poke around in the petty cash drawer, but Betty knew she was being totally nosy. Amanda wasn't nearly as stupid as she seemed.

Betty grimaced outwardly, although she was more than a little relieved that Amanda was coming in handy for once. "It's just…can we do this when we don't have an audience of the blonde bulimic variety?" she whispered, indicating Amanda with a jerk of her head.

"Fine. But later, we're talking. I don't care if I have to follow you back to Queens and your dad takes a .45 to me. I won't lose you. I can't," Daniel ground out.

Betty solemnly nodded and turned to leave the office, the enchiladas she'd eaten for lunch doing a Mexican hat dance around the scrambled eggs that were breakfast. "I'll tell her you're on for two," she called over her shoulder.

Daniel smiled a little. It was but a shadow of Betty's usual bossy nature, but he'd take what he could get.

Betty slid into her chair and didn't meet Amanda's eyes, although she could feel the other woman's green, mascara-coated peepers burning a hole through the side of her skull.

"Be careful."

Betty looked up, fully expecting to see a nude lip gloss-coated smirk in place.

There was none…only a sincerity far more unnerving than any mocking Amanda had ever given her.

DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDB

The therapist couldn't say Ms. Suarez hadn't warned her. She sighed deeply and tried once again to garner a coherent response out of the sullen, beautiful creature before her.

"Okay, Daniel, once more without the attitude. Why do you think you're here?"

"So I can get Betty off my back." He gave the Rubik's Cube another futile twist and the therapist tried her best to remain objective as that hot, hooded, basilisk blue gaze fastened on her for a moment.

Like everyone else hired by _Mode_, the therapist had a willowy, frail, exotic beauty, so much so that her cats-eye red glasses made her look less like a licensed professional and more like one of those Hot!Librarian birthday strippers. Daniel would know. He marveled at the fact that a couple of years ago, he'd have had her bent over her desk by now. But a lot had changed. So much so, in fact, that the only reason he found her remotely do-able now were those red glasses…

Which reminded him…

He pulled out his cell amidst her half-hearted noises of protest and help up a finger. This would only take a second.

_Dear Betty,_ he rapidly texted, _this sucks big monkey balls. Luv Daniel._

A few seconds later, his phone vibrated. _Dear Daniel_, the reply read, _get over it, Pillhead. Love n' kisses—Betty_.

Daniel found himself grinning widely. The therapist cleared her throat. "Why are you here, Daniel?"

He sighed. He'd already determined that he wasn't going to bang her, so even that potential benefit of this therapy was lost to him. He might as well let out a little of the toxicity that had been slowly accumulating within him. He hadn't been an outright, deliberate asshole in a long time, but sweet holy Moses on a marshmallow, did he hate this touchy-feely Dr. Phil-type shit. He was like his father in that respect, if nothing else.

"So I can sit around in this ratty-ass chair playing with myself, apparently. What?"

"So you can kick your pill addiction, yes, but that's only the tip of the iceberg. We need to explore why you feel the need to turn to substances and sex in the first place. My assessment? You're lonely. You need human contact."

"Uh…you must not read Page Six."

"I don't mean random screwing. I mean genuine connection with another person."

Daniel sneered. "So, what, I need a hug? Get myself a Tickle-Me-Elmo?" _Hahahahahaha! That tickles!_

He shuddered.

"In a word, yes. Studies show that infants who feel the most loving human touch grow up to be healthier. It has its benefits. What about Betty?" Daniel sat bolt upright, but the therapist was still engrossed in her notes on his psyche.

"Betty?" he choked out, like he'd never heard the name before.

The therapist inwardly grinned. This was going to be easier than she thought. She kept her voice casual. "Well, I'm only saying so because I've been keeping a tally here of the number of times you've said her name in the last half-hour. You're currently up to twelve…which is telling, considering our conversation—none of it—has actually been _about_ Betty."

Daniel turned his face away from her gaze and tilted his head back, hoping it conveyed "aloof" rather than "OhdearsweetbabyJesusshe'sontome!"

"Grasping at straws, much?" he drawled. "Betty's my _assistant_. She _assists_. In order to _assist_ me she's got to be around me All. Day. Long. Viola. Mystery solved, I need a drink, and can I go now?"

The therapist ignored him. She'd done her thesis on filthy rich spoiled-brat man-children. Sooner or later, their artificial "family" of glamorous sycophants started to seem somewhat shabby and fractured. This usually occurred in their early thirties when a man generally begins to think of settling down.

Despite his attitude, which was no-care-ish, smarmy, and tough-guy by turns, she could tell quite easily that Daniel wasn't a cruel bully or a sociopath that would kill his mother for a little prescription medication.

Neither was he a lost cause.

He was on the move, striding toward the door, leather blazer fitting him like a second skin and stretching taut over his muscles when he moved.

This Betty Suarez was a lucky girl.

"Your assignment is to spend some time with Betty outside of work," she called after him.

"I'll have to catch her first," he muttered, too low for her to hear.

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As it turned out, "catching" Betty was much more daunting a task than he initially thought.

For one thing, those short little legs, half the length of his own, carried her with lighting speed into the cafeteria and Closet with Christina, to the circular desk to "visit" with Amanda, to Accounting to make smoochy faces at Henry, and to Alexis's and even Wilhelmina's respective offices…basically anywhere Daniel wasn't.

He finally bit the bullet and got her cornered in the ladies' room.

She was standing at the sink brushing her hair and didn't see him slip quietly up behind her.

She was wearing that pensive expression, brows wrinkled, lower lip slightly tucked under the top one in a pout. He realized that he loved that look second only to her sweet, open smiles. She was gazing into the mirror but not out of vanity. Daniel suspected it didn't even register in her mind that she was looking at herself. His Betty's brain was always on more important matters than mere appearances, anyway.

He watched each black silky strand fall from the brush's bristles and land lightly onto her shoulder. Not thinking, just caught up in the Betty!moment, his fingers moved of their own violation, almost touching, almost…

"Whoa!" he said, catching himself seconds before he'd begun stroking Betty like a child would a petting-zoo llama.

Betty, caught unawares, shrieked and spun around.

"Daniel!" she breathed, unnecessarily. He saw fear give way to an exasperated anger that was familiar. "You know, for an editor of a magazine, you sure have trouble comprehending the words '_ladies_ room.'"

She saw the tired, crestfallen look on his face and was immediately sorry for being such a creepy bitch all day long. Last night was partially her fault as well…it took two to play illicit grab-ass on the bed, after all.

"I'm sorry," she said, kissing two fingers and pressing them against the side of his face. Having been rewarded by one of those little cheeky half-grins, she said, "So, how was therapy?"

He shrugged and Betty fought the urge to squish him. "Second verse, same as the first, a little bit longer and a whole lot more boring. So," he said, aiming for casual, "how about dinner tonight at Meade Manor? Just you, me, mom, and Alexis?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude…" she began softly, and Daniel snorted.

"Oh, come _on_. Mom keeps insisting on the family Meade—or what's left of us—getting together and bonding. Except it's usually less with the bonding and more with the not-so-covert glances at Dad's empty spot. Trust me, your presence would give us something in common at least…we're all very fond of you."

Betty felt a tug at her heart. Whatsoever Bradford may have lacked in the fatherhood/husband department, he was missed more than a little. She even found herself looking for the old coot's broad shouldered form and silver crown of hair behind the desk whenever Daniel sent her to Alexis's top-floor office. But of course, there was only Alexis, no less intimidating for her blonde ringlets and filmy blouses.

"Okay, thanks. Count me in." She nodded firmly, accepting the offer.

Daniel's megawatt grin could've powered the NYC transit system for a decade. 'See you at eight, then." He winked at her and was gone.

Betty stood glued to the spot, tempted to giggle madly like the pubescent schoolgirls earlier.

_Oh. My. God. He winked at me, OH MY GOD, did you see it?!_

_Yeah, well, he put his arm around me…I'm SO not bathing ever again_…

Betty shook her head to clear it. It wasn't that she was shy or uncomfortable around the Meades. Far from it. She saw more of them than she did her own blood relatives these days. At one time she may have stood in awe of their powerful publishing empire, but now that she'd had a front row seat for all their crazy, she saw them simply as flawed but decent human beings instead of demigods.

One in particular was tragically flawed and a great deal more than just "decent."

When it came to Daniel, her heart had passed the point of no return, had stopped briefly for snacks and gas, and had continued on its merry way into oblivion, leaving her intellectual, common sense side cursing and choking in its dust.

He was Daniel Meade.

He'd winked at her.

_Damn._

**So next down the chute is the grand finale, which will involve--you guessed it--touch. Hmmm, might have to bump up the rating to a nice solid "M."**

**Reviews, maybe? Please? :D**


	5. Chapter 5: 'I Touch Myself' Strikes Back

**A/N: Finally, finally, FINALLY I've finished this thing. My reviewers are the most awesome and patient people EVER, and I'm sending a great big resounding "THANK YOU!!" to you all :D I had hinted at upping the rating to "M," but as I started writing, it just didn't go in that direction. It didn't ring true for the characters at that point in their relationship. Seriously, though, this site needs some D/B nookie. Or just some more D/B, period. I've read and reread Michelleypie's brilliant fic "Skin Deep" about seven times now. No joke.**

They were flying down the winding road like bats out of Gina Gambaro's weave, the city lights far in the distance.

Betty would've taken this opportunity to nap if she hadn't anticipated being scraped off the pavement with OxyClean and a spatula sometime in the very near future.

Despite the rapidly setting sun, Daniel had donned a pair of aviator-style sunglasses because, according to him, he was just that cool. Although he was usually low-key, put the man behind the wheel of a car and he turned into a road Nazi of the highest rank.

"You know," he bellowed at the driver in front of him that had the nerve to go a mere 75 mph, "if you push the pedal to the right, magical things happen…ACCELERATION FOR INSTANCE."

By the time they'd almost literally hit el Mansion de la Meade, Betty had totally rethought her views on pubic transportation. The guy that had sat next to her on the bus this morning, the one with a grand total of four teeth and breath that had a right hook like Chuck Norris, was starting to look like a practically viable dating option when compared to riding shotgun with her drool-worthy boss.

They screeched to a halt in front of the massive wrought-iron gates, both of which were emblazoned with the letter "M."

"What've you got in there-- King Kong?" Betty quipped, noting the over-the-top grandeur.

Daniel spared her a sour glance before shouting into the trendy little intercom, "This is Daniel Meade. You can open the gates."

They waited a minute. No response. "Uh…sometime this week would be nice."

"Please state your identification code," blared a tinny voice that sounded strangely familiar.

"Identification code? What the hell?" Daniel looked at Betty who merely shrugged.

"We'll also need a handprint," the voice blared again.

Recognition dawned on Daniel. He smirked as he leaned out the window. "How 'bout you use the boot print that'll be on your ass once I get a hold of you, big tranny sister?"

"Well aren't we touchy tonight?" was the response, but the big gates opened with an intimidating groan nonetheless.

Daniel made an obscene gesture at the camera mounted above the intercom speaker and his lead foot dropped on the gas pedal once again.

Daniel parked the car with all the finesse of a man with a death wish and turned to openly stare at his Betty. She was warm and sleepy and looking particularly edible in her summery yellow wrap-around dress. Her whimsical, pink, Betty-esque headband with the little daises struggled to hold back her wild black tresses.

Daniel wasn't stupid. He knew himself better than most people thought he did. He knew he had issues. He knew that he was quite possibly the loneliest man on the East Coast, at least. He knew the reason all his conquests of late had grown just a little curvier, just a little shorter, and just a little smarter with each female he dazzled, and why he requested that said girls keep their glasses on during sex. He knew he was pining for someone he didn't deserve.

And he also knew, at this very moment, that he didn't much care.

Betty was unaware of his scrutiny. She was busy taking in the well-kempt splendor around her. Although she'd been here many times before, the setting sun now cast a golden glow on everything that made the grounds seem even more rolling and vast.

The grass had deepened into a blue-green shade, and it was so perfect that she half expected to see the Teletubbies come skipping up.

She felt a soft touch on her upper arm and realized with a rising blush that Daniel was getting touchy-feely again. His knuckles lightly caressed the skin of her upper arm, sending chills charging over her entire body despite the warmth of the evening.

Betty didn't know whether or not to be relieved that he was completely unaware of what he was doing. Well, that wasn't completely true. Daniel was in a trance and yet all too aware of how her skin was baby-soft and how his knuckles actually made light, split-second intentions everywhere they went.

He wasn't used to that, having mostly known skin stretched taut as a drum over the long arm bones of models.

Fevered blue eyes moved to her lips. He would remember how they tasted until he was so much dust in a pine box. Their first kiss had been a tease, really. He wanted to make this one last. And last, and last…

He leaned in even closer and his heart thrilled when she didn't move away.

_That's it, stay still for me, baby, give Daniel what he needs before he shrivels up into a sorry, withered, love-sick raisin..._

"If you guys are done feeling each other up, dinner's almost ready," Alexis announced blandly from somewhere to the right. In the shadows, all that was visible was her tomato-red dress. Daniel didn't have to see her face to know she wore Alex's trademark smirk.

"GAH!" Daniel, eager to make his shocked excuses, fumbled behind him for the car's door handle, pulled it, and sprawled out onto the stone floor of the parking garage, ass first. Betty quickly, efficiently, and silently slid out.

Betty's head was ducked and her shoulders were shaking. _Oh, God, I've hit on her and made her cry…she's still so very young and vulnerable…why wasn't I more careful?_ Daniel thought despairingly.

A closer look proved that she was laughing her _cute, perfectly rounded_ ass off.

She pointed to Daniel with a quivering index finger. "You…" she snorted, unable to finish, "you went…SMACK…heeee!"

Daniel wanted to do nothing more than ravage her on the spot, Alexis be damned. Alexis took the moment to glide up and put a long arm around Betty, the corners of her mouth twitching and a suspicious flush across the bridge of her nose. "Betty, why don't you go on inside? Mom will have a nice, tall glass of something pleasantly toxic made for you." She brushed a light, brisk kiss across her cheek and gave her a gentle shove. "Go on, now. Theeeeere's a good girl. That's right."

Both siblings watched her retreating figure, Alexis smiling and waving brightly when she glanced over her shoulder with barely-contained mirth, and Daniel too transfixed by her retreating backside to move.

He felt a sharp slap on the back of his head. The sound rang out into the humid dusk. An alarmed bird flew out of a tree.

"OW! JESUS!"

"Put your eyes back into your head!" Alexis snapped fiercely.

"Well, I can't very well do that if you're slapping them out of my skull! What's your deal? Finally got that PMS you've always wanted?"

"One word: Betty. What in the roasty-toasty hell are you thinking?"

Daniel drew himself up to his full height and was almost able to meet her eyes without standing on his toes. "You've got something against Betty now?"

"Of course not, numb-nuts. But Betty's a nice girl and an enormous asset to the company and has the potential to be one of the greatest feature writers Meade Publications has ever had. And I don't want you chasing her off because you can't keep your thingy in your pants."

"At least I still have a thingy."

"Oh, now that wasn't even clever. And it's beside the point." Alexis looked at him sympathetically. "A relationship with you would break her, Daniel. She'd never be the same." She put a hand on his shoulder and he shook it off.

Daniel laughed humorlessly, her words stirring the same already-existing fear in his heart like a big cruel spoon. "You were wrong when you said your eyes were the only things the doctors couldn't change. They could take away your balls, Alex, but they couldn't take away that damn sanctimonious attitude. I see you're still blathering on about things you don't understand…love, for instance."

Alexis flinched briefly as if wounded, but Daniel was pretty sure nothing cut her that deeply anymore.

He brushed past her into the house.

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Betty was pretty sure that it wasn't appropriate to listen to stories about her boss's childhood exploits while downing whiskey with his mother.

Still, the mental image of baby Daniel stealing a bottle of vodka and toddling off naked through the yard at the Meade family reunion was distinctly amusing. And strangely familiar…

"He rendered an encore when he was twenty-one…" Claire reminisced fondly. "And again last year…the press had a field day…"

Ah. She thought that story had a familiar ring to it. And she absolutely had NOT Googled the images online during her lunch break the following day…no, sir, because that would have been WRONG.

The man in question came power-striding in, his hair mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. Betty scooted over on the sofa and tried to stifle a giggle, her eyes sparkling.

Daniel eyed her. "How many of those have you had?" he asked, tapping her glass with an index finger.

Betty held up two fingers. Daniel gave her a stern look. She rolled her eyes and held up three fingers.

Daniel reached for the decanter in spite of Betty's kittenish slaps to his wrist. "Hold on while I catch up."

Claire delicately stifled a burp. "Just like the good old days, I see. We all need a few stiff ones to tolerate each other's company."

Daniel really, _really_ didn't need to hear the phrase "stiff one" tonight in any context, let alone with Betty's hip touching his and Alexis snickering into her own snifter of brandy.

"I'll bet Daniel's had a stiff one in his hand all week, Mom," Alexis snorted.

"Oh, Daniel, I've always said having alcohol in one's office is a bad idea," Claire sniffed offhandedly.

"Yes, Mother," Daniel ground out through gritted teeth, wishing to God on high that Alexis were still a man for just three seconds…

"It causes you to do unwise things…like write 'Fey Sommers has crabs' in lipstick on the transparent wall behind one's desk…" Claire rambled on.

"Hey, Betty." Daniel said, suddenly turning to look at her.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Have I ever given you a tour of this place?"

"Nope."

"You want one?"

"Sure. Lead the way, boss-man." She put her small, warm paw in his with absolute trust.

His heart was lifted up at this but then sank with guilt; not that he was planning on jumping her as soon as they reached one of the east-wing bedrooms, mind you. But he was well aware that his offer sounded something akin to a "Let me take you upstairs and show you my, uh, _trophy collection_" line at a bender in the Phi Sigma Kappa house.

He stumbled a little, the whiskey taking effect, as he led Betty to the grand staircase. She stumbled behind him with tipsy enthusiasm.

The upper floors had a musty odor that was not unpleasant; it was more of a "this place is really, really old and we're really, really rich" type of smell. The corridors were cool and dark, lit only by a few candles and a dimly lit bulb or two. It was almost as if the house were ashamed to hold its ornate splendor up to the harsh light of day.

_Kind of like the Meades themselves_, Betty mused, her arm linked with Daniel's. It was obvious that he was distinctly uncomfortable in his own family's estate. She was all but convinced that he wanted to show her something more than just the visual, tangible beauty of the place to kill time before dinner; it was like he wanted her to look right through it, somehow, to spite it. Every object she stopped to admire had some kind of ambiguous story attached to it_—"this is the balcony where Mom swallowed a bottle of pills and Alex and I used to play with Legos..."_

"Holy shit, that's a big fish," Betty said, forgetting her propriety at the sight of a huge blue marlin, stuffed and mounted and 2,000 lbs.

Daniel grinned, looking at Betty and then the marlin and then back at Betty. It could've eaten her easily. So could he. But to distract himself from dirty thoughts, he said, "Dad chased that thing for four days, dragging Alex and me in his wake. He was so obsessed with that fish that we started calling him 'Captain Ahab.' I think he secretly liked the nickname."

Betty's mind, still a little silly from the whiskey, conjured up an image of Bradford with a peg-leg on the deck of a ship. Her ricocheting thoughts turned more serious then; she wanted to blurt out to Daniel that his father's dying wish revolved around his well-being. But now wasn't the time nor the place for that conversation, if ever.

Instead, she reached up as far on her tiptoes as she could (and yet still had to pull him slightly down) to reach his cheek to kiss it.

She felt sure the resulting flush of color across the bridge of his nose was a trick of the light.

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The study, at first glance, appeared slightly warmer than the rest of the place. The house staff had stoked a fire in the grate that cast a golden, comfortable glow that the rest of the estate lacked. Plus, it was chock full of books, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling. Betty gave a squeak of delight.

"_Great Expectations_, first edition," she breathed happily. "How'd you guys ever get a hold of this?"

Daniel shrugged. His father had a way of procuring things that made one suspect he'd sold his soul to Satan ten times over. "I dunno. Nobody's ever even opened it, I'll bet."

He laughed at the sheer adorableness of Betty's horrified expression as she plunked down on a couch in shock. "If you don't open it, how can you smell it?"

"Pardon?"

She cracked it open and held it up to him. "It's the best smell in the world," she said wistfully.

"You are very odd, Betty Suarez."

She gazed downward, her expression unreadable. "I know. I'm reminded daily."

Daniel took her face in his hands. "Hey. I didn't say it's necessarily a bad thing."

Betty genuinely smiled then, a smile that made him feel that if he could make a person like her happy, if only for a second, he wasn't the rat-bastard people thought he was. "Whoa, there, sailor," she teased. "Keep cranking out the charm, you might make me fall in love with you."

A few months ago, they'd have both snorted with mirth at the thought and then gone out for pizza or something. Now, though, the fire in the grate felt altogether too hot.

"I lost my virginity on this couch," Daniel said suddenly.

Betty shifted uncomfortably. "No kidding. Who with?" _I'm not curious, really, just making conversation, who the hell was she, was she pretty, was she smart?_ Betty hoped, strangely, that she hadn't been smart.

"My nanny." Daniel examined a fingernail.

Betty stared at him agog. "Shut UP."

The beginnings of a smile began to form on his lips and spread rapidly. "If I did that, I couldn't tell you just how much I'm bullshitting right now."

Betty elbowed him lightly in vengeance. "How did you really lose your virginity?"

"I was fifteen, at a boarding school in Switzerland. Hated. It. We barely had central heating and cooling, but we did have an all-girls Catholic school about a mile up the road. And access to booze through some of the older guys. And that, Miss Suarez, is all I'm telling you about that."

Betty held up both hands. "All I wanted to know, thanks."

"What about you?" Daniel had always, _always_ wanted to ask, even when he was trying to get her to quit when they'd first met. Betty had a way about her that made one almost ashamedly and wildly curious as to where she'd been, how far she'd go…

"What is this, Truth or Dare?" Betty had folded her arms in front of her defensively. "Because if it is, I dare you to go pinch the butler's ass or something."

"Nuh-uh-uh. You asked me, I ask you."

"Your answer was lame. You didn't even supply any juicy details. Not that I wanted any," she hastily added. Off his challenging look, she said, "Oh, fine. I lost my virginity to Walter, lying flat on my back on the seat of his Pro-Buy van. I was eighteen. It was embarrassing and awkward, it hurt like a mother and if I'd have known his equipment was the size of a thumbtack, I wouldn't have even bothered. Happy now?"

She had to admit that she relished the looseness of the tongue the whiskey had given her, and Daniel's resulting shocked stare at her brashness. It wasn't often that she could shock him, after all. It was usually the other way around, since Daniel had been everywhere and done everything, it seemed.

"Not particularly," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

"You asked if I was happy now, and no, the thoughts of you losing your virginity to Wilbur in a utility van doesn't make me happy." He leaned in closer, his face a whisper away from hers. "On the other hand, if you had lost your virginity to Johnny Depp on a carpet of rose-petals after a succulent lobster-and-champagne dinner, well then….I still wouldn't be too happy to hear about that."

Betty knew then that the time for ignoring such comments had passed. Because the room was too hot, sweat was trickling down her back, he hadn't stopped staring at her in the last few days, and dammit, she was tired of playing coy when all she wanted was to take several of those fancy silk pocket handkerchiefs of his, tie him to the bedposts, and have her noisy way with him.

She leaned in closer, their noses rubbing together briefly. Eskimo kisses. "What's it to you who I lost my virginity to?"

"I never want to hear about you settling for less. You know that."

Her voice became firm. "No, Daniel, really. I'm serious. Why do you care? Why do you keep saying these things to me? To rile me up? To toy with me?"

Daniel sighed. "When we were only friends, I could say things like that to you all day, and you'd just brush it off. But now we aren't, and consequently…you can't."

"Did those pills scramble your noodle?" Betty bit off, the light tone that her brain had intended failing to exit her mouth the same way. "Honest to God, Daniel. Think about what we have to lose." _And how am I going to tell Henry that he's going to have to expedite his departure to Tucson? "Uh, see Henry, it's like this...I kind of fell rabidly love with my boss, so could you kindly piss off now?" Yeah, that should do it._

Daniel looked around the richly furnished room, only one of many. And yet he had had nothing in this house. No love, no warmth, no dignity, no purpose. All of those things had arrived to him that first day at _Mode_, special delivery courtesy of his father, no less, in a Betty-shaped package.

She was right, as usual.

He did have a lot to lose…for the first time in his life.

"But I'm tired of running," he said with finality. With resolve.

"So am I," was the soft reply, light as feather-down. She pushed her hair behind her ear. "I mean, seriously though, I might get skittish."

He grabbed her hand and entwined their fingers. His were pale and large and well-kempt with manicures that cost more than her monthly utility bills. Hers were small and olive-toned and the nails were neatly filed and trimmed by her sister. Their fingers wove together perfectly. As her high school art teacher would say, the image had balance.

"I'll just have to tether you down," Daniel said, lightening the mood with a goofy, Disney-villain leer. "And if you escape, well…just call me 'Captain Ahab.'"

Betty snorted. "Remind me to throttle you sometime after dinner for implying that I'm your evil, elusive whale. I may just have to bite off your leg at the knee."

Daniel, in a tight spot and facing feminine wrath, had never been more grateful to hear Alexis shout from down the corridor, "Well, the kitchen staff's scorched the duck. Mom and I are going to the Piggly Wiggly. Any requests?"

Two pairs of eyes, impossible blue to velvet brown, met and locked.

"OATMEAL!" they shouted back, in perfect unison.

Finis.

**And there it is. The not-so-bitter end. Quite fluffy, actually. Remember, at the end of all my fics you can just assume they get it on. Might I beg reviews one last time? xD **


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